


just conjugal visits

by pocketbat



Category: Vicious - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, M/M, Obsession, Sadism, Torture, Torture Porn, bad people doing bad things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-05-30
Packaged: 2019-05-16 00:19:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14800718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketbat/pseuds/pocketbat
Summary: Victor visits Eli in prison in order to put his gift to good use. Eli would probably disagree about whether it's a good use, but he's too busy screaming.Or:hello it is time to sexy torture ur nemesis for fun and profit





	just conjugal visits

**Author's Note:**

> If you got here from my Arcana fic, this is _much_ nastier. This doesn't quite earn the noncon warning, but there is...general sexualized badness. Be warned. 
> 
> Straight up, this is a fic about a guy torturing his college roommate/ex-bestie/nemesis/boyfriend in order to make sure that they're both the same amount of obsessed with each other, whilst rocking a huge boner because he's a filthy fucking sadist. If that's not your cup of tea, please do not read.

After all the trouble he'd taken to ensure that he wouldn't be interrupted, Victor’s gloating session was not going according to plan. Even securely incarcerated, Eli was nothing if not infuriating; he had immediately dragged the conversation around to his religious fixation. 

"You and God," Victor snarled. "I--" He caught himself. It was a mark of how wound up he was that the truth had almost escaped: _First you and the facade that you showed the world. Then you and Angie. Then you and your theories. And now you and God. There's always been something between you and me. And I won't let even God block my way to you._

"I never understood that," he finished instead. 

"You wouldn't," said Eli, distant. "Even the real version of you never could."

The urge to crush, to tear, to _destroy,_ to drop Eli on his knees, sobbing with pain, boiled up in Victor, and it overflowed at his next words. 

Eli's big brown doe-eyes lit with the fanatical glow that Victor had come to despise, and he said, "But everything starts with faith, Victor."

Victor felt his lips peel back from his teeth. "We've been over this," he said. His voice was cold and sharp, which dimly struck him as odd: he was burning, crackling, skin hot beneath his clothes. "How do you think you got here? _Playing God_ got you here, Cardale."

Eli's chin jerked up. "Ever," he snapped. He looked like he was about to say more, but Victor was unutterably sick of Eli Ever the zealot. He'd gotten the wrong monster. If the darkly glittering thing inside his friend, his enemy, his rival was still there, he was going to draw it out at last. 

"Eliot Cardale," he said flatly. "Eliot Cardale. You are a delusional mess. You sincerely believe you are a messenger of God and that I'm a devil, but we're the same. Why do you think I put up with you at Lockland?"

Eli's face twisted, and he hunched forward like a beast ready to spring. If he'd had a gun, he would have shot Victor; that was obvious. 

"You're an abomination, a shadow wearing my friend's skin--everything you're saying is a lie straight from the Father of Lies--"

"You're a murderer," Victor interrupted flatly. 

"No, I'm--"

"You're a murderer," Victor repeated. He felt for the buzzing shape of Eli's presence. Under his mental touch it felt stronger, brighter, more alluring than anyone else's. 

"I'm--" Eli's anger was obvious, flaring, childish. And somewhere underneath the beatific certainty, the lofty sense of purpose, something older and ugly moved for a moment, like a flash of a fin in deep water. 

"You're a murderer," Victor said, his breath catching in his throat. And in that dizzy moment of anticipation, he cranked the dial as high as it could go without the assistance of existing pain. 

The air around him reverberated with agony and with Eli's scream. He did drop to his knees, just like Victor had envisioned. The pain felt solid enough to run his fingers against--oh, Eli must have known he'd do it, but he had no defense. Victor wrenched it still higher, body bowing toward Eli's with the intensity of his will. It was more than enough to kill anyone else--he could feel Eli's aura flickering in and out as he succumbed and then healed, over and over.

Eli ran out of air, but couldn't gather himself enough to catch his breath. His animal roar choked off, turned into wretched little hyperventilating inhales. It was glorious. Victor stepped closer, watching him writhe like he was being electrocuted, which seemed charmingly appropriate. 

"God could have given you the power to do something about this," he pointed out. He shrugged, pulled out his switchblade, began cleaning his nails. "I suppose you'll just have to take it. And while you're doing that, I have a point I'd like to make clear."

He snapped his knife shut, deposited it in his pocket, and got up close to the bars. "I've changed a great deal. But I am not some demon in your friend's body." Holding the dial at its maximum was starting to become a strain; he'd never been able to try doing it for so long before. "I am Victor Vale. Do you understand?"

He took the pain for a moment, wiped Eli blissfully clean. His nemesis looked up at him with glazed eyes, gasping. He looked helpless. Victor knew it wasn't true, knew that Eli would snatch any advantage given to him, but it was a delicious illusion just the same. 

"Devil," Eli gasped, straightening, glaring. 

Victor _tsk_ ed. He eyed Eli, sweating in a puddle on the floor, brows knitting in anticipation, and brought it all back

Eli moaned and went down. The sound of his rich newscaster's voice so undone shot a throb of pleasure through Victor. 

"Mm. Let's try again. You know I'd use whatever tools were available to me, Cardale. This shouldn't seem so uncharacteristic." He could feel the strain of holding him at maximum already--he was really testing his limits, but Eli didn't need to know that. He dearly wished that he could get his knife in Eli, press it in deep and keep it there and amplify every bit of the searing agony. Later. 

After a few long moments in which he savored the feeling of control, he released him. Eli went slack and whimpered. An involuntary sound of relief. Pathetic. God, it was good. 

"Who am I?" he said. He still sounded so calm--he was a riot inside, nerves singing, flush with the thrill. He was distantly surprised it didn't show more. 

"A monster," Eli said thickly from the floor, which Victor counted as an improvement. He struggled up, strength returning already. "Come here and face me, you--"

Victor stepped close, so close, and as Eli lunged, he flipped the dial up. Eli crashed into the bars, rattling them, and slid down. He screamed again this time, kept screaming--raw, wild sounds of pain that fed the devouring ache inside Victor. 

"I've had a lot of practice at this," he said, crouching down so that he could meet Eli's wild eyes. "How does this compare to dying? You held your tongue then."

His will gave out sooner than he would have liked, but he gave no sign of it. In fact, he realized that he could use the slip to his advantage. As Victor eased him back toward normal levels, Eli shot his hands out through the bars, trying to grab him, and Victor felt his lips curl in a smile as thin as a blade.

He grabbed Eli's hand--his right hand, dominant, broad and calloused--and snapped his pinky back. The _crack_ reverberated off the cinderblock walls. Victor held it, pinned back against his knuckles at a completely unnatural angle, and gave Eli his pain back a hundredfold. 

Eli convulsed so violently that he nearly managed to get his hand free, but Victor held him still grimly. With his finger held in position, he couldn't heal it, and that was the crack that Victor needed to get in. He played with the intensity freely, out of rhythm, keeping Eli guessing, giving him no respite. 

"You know what you have to do to make this stop," he said quietly, after a while, once tears had started to leak down Eli's face. Eli was watching him and only him, bound to him, helpless to look away or retreat into the safety of his faith. He ground his thumb into Eli's mangled pinky for good measure, wrenching it sideways. "God isn't going to save you from me. You gain nothing from enduring this. All you have to do is give me what I want." 

He was grateful that he was squatting down; it hid his erection. He was enjoying himself to no end. Eli's body might be indestructible, but he had no defense from Victor's power: pain. Victor could break him just like he could anyone else, and that was electrifying. 

He flared the agony with a deft twist of the dial, and Eli let out a tiny sob. He looked humiliated, wrecked. 

"Who am I, Eli?" Victor cooed. "If I were a devil from Hell, I wouldn't bother doing this. You wouldn't matter to me. Who am I?"

Eli gritted his teeth. Fresh tears spilled down his cheeks; his hair was matted down with sweat. His hand shook uncontrollably in Victor's relentless grip. 

Victor kneaded his broken finger for emphasis. As much as he'd liked the screams, the small, pathetic whimpers that this wrung from Eli were even better; he felt his cock twitch in his slacks. 

"I can do this all day," he reminded Eli. "How long can you take it?" 

"God," Eli sobbed. It was not a prayer. It was an expletive. That was good.

"Think how good it's going to feel once the pain stops," Victor said. He could just imagine how grateful Eli would look. After a while, they all did--they all were grateful that he stopped hurting them. Grateful to _him,_ even though he was the source of their suffering. 

Eli could talk about God all day, but in the end they were bodies and nothing but. Physical reality was inescapable. Eli was just another machine, organs and blood and bone and muscle, and Victor was taking a sledgehammer to him. And once he'd broken the machine, he could rebuild. 

The certainty he felt must have been blazing in his pale eyes, because Eli seemed to find an answer in them, to reach a conclusion. 

"Victor," he gasped. 

"Good boy, Cardale," Victor purred, and he shut down Eli's nerves with covetous hands. 

He moved back instantly--no sense in taking chances--but he kept his eyes locked on Eli, not wanting to miss a thing. The expression that he made as relief washed over him was... perfect. 

Eli heaved in a trembling breath and his mouth fell open, lips swollen from biting them. His eyes went glassy. As his finger popped back into place, he moaned again, and it sounded like ecstasy. Victor reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a water bottle, which he carefully slotted through the bars a little way away from Eli. Even in this state, he wasn't going to risk getting close to him. 

"Here," he said, layering his voice with gentleness. "You must need this."

Eli heaved himself over and grabbed the water bottle. His motions were sluggish, clumsy. It was probably more of a psychological effect than anything else; any damage Victor had caused had evaporated already. 

"Sugar will help too," Victor added, producing a bar of chocolate. He tossed it; it sailed end over end between the bars and hit the gritty concrete beyond Eli with a _pak._

Once he managed to get the cap off the bottle, Eli drank like a man dying of thirst. He stared at Victor blankly, gaze sliding from Victor's pale, narrow face and down his body without meaning. Victor supposed that he could have used his coat to disguise the thick, obscene shape of his erection in his snug slacks, but it didn't matter. Let Eli see it, if he was really seeing anything at all right now. 

"Eat the chocolate too," he urged Eli. The juxtaposition of small kindnesses with torture was a powerful tool. Usually, he was more interested in the torture part of the process, but what tending to his enemy would do to him was so perverse that he couldn't possibly pass it up. "And get some rest. I'll see you later, Cardale." 

He turned around and walked away from Eli's crumpled, mute figure on the floor, and the shadows reached out to sweep him up.

**Author's Note:**

>  _Vicious_ is made of everything I love, and should have a much larger fandom. It's wall-to-wall fanfic ideas, come on. I finished it yesterday and immediately whipped this out. Really, really looking forward to _Vengeful._
> 
> I took a couple liberties with the exact limitations of Victor's power. I originally intended to write something with a lot more dicks, but to my surprise, I got this instead. 
> 
> Title is from "The Take Over, The Breaks Over" by Fall Out Boy.


End file.
